Falling For The Wicked
by morvamp
Summary: The numerous moments she hits him. Each for varying reasons, assorted reactions, and always for protection. Followed by the one time when she realizes she doesn't need it, nor the action. (Rating changed to T)
1. Chapter 1

**This idea has been hanging in my head for weeks now and last night I finally had a bit of free time to get the first chapter out. Now, I know some of you may be wary about the hitting aspect, but I assure you that this isn't a violent fic about abuse. It's a fic about defenses, which Emma always has up around Hook, and the path to the moment they finally crumble down. I'm not sure how many chapters there will be in this exactly, at least five, nor can I assure super-fast updates, but I'll try to write whenever I have free time. Pinky promise. Also, I have a tendency to drift towards adult material in my stories. I'm honestly not sure if I'll go there in this one, but because there is a chance and I have a dirty writers mouth, I am giving this an M rating.**

_**Hope you like it.**_

* * *

_The first time it happens, the tip of his hook is pressed to her skin. It's iron, frigid and stiff against the throbbing of her carotid artery._

He's teaching her to sword fight and she lets him, knowing they can both learn quite a bit from the other. Her father can only teach her so much, but a cunning villain, well his mind contains exactly the knowledge she needs to defeat another one.

_Pan._

His face drifts across her eyes shifting everything into a shade of crimson and she brings her sword down hard over Hook's head. He counters with his own sword, the clang of the metals vibrating both through the air and up her forearm. They've been at this for hours and it's only the fourth time she's struck him with that degree of intensity.

"Easy, lass," he says. "If you keep attacking me like that, I might fall under the impression you still want to kill me."

"Who's saying I don't?" she chides, narrowing her eyes and taunting him with her sword.

He lunges, swiping his steel across her mid-section, but she's too quick and all he touches is air. "Aye. And here I was thinking we'd made leaps and bounds since our first sword fight."

They have. She hasn't viewed him in that level of negativity in quite some time. At least since they stepped foot on this wretched island and formed an alliance to save her son. She can't. Because he keeps proving his importance. Keeps proving that he's on her side. And that's impossible to decline when for so long she's felt alone on it.

"And if I remember correctly, you were left knocked out cold," she leers. "By the hands of me."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes for dramatic flair, and swings again. "Everyone is entitled to beginners luck."

She jumps back, narrowly missing the blade and enjoying the back and forth. More than she should. "Or maybe I'm just a better swordsman than you."

He chuckles, as though the notion is positively absurd. "If that's the case, then why are we wasting precious time? You have a deranged little boy playing puppet master with your son." He lets his sword fall to his side and lifts his hook into the air, allowing passage through to the forest behind him. "By all means, if you don't need my assistance, I'd be thrilled to point you in his direction."

_Straight through the dark jungle that will surely claim your life,_ isn't spoken. Simply implied.

She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to another and mutters, "I'm not ready." Revealing weakness has never been something that's come easily and she blames it on the solo strength she's had to survive on for as long as she can remember.

His brows lift towards his hairline in amusement. "And why is that, love?"

Because she's barely tapped into the depths her magic can reach and Regina can only assist her so much. As much as she hates to admit it, Pan's too powerful. She needs practice, not just with her abilities, but her skills. Her emotions keep rearing their ugly head, swaying her from her mission or driving her towards it too fiercely. It's easy to be manipulated, especially by a pre-teen who excels in the very talent. She needs control, and the only way to master that is around the one person she seems to have the least around lately.

But she's damn sure not about to admit that to him out loud.

Instead, she settles for the vague and direct, "You know why," hoping he chalks all of her insecurities up to the abilities and swordsmanship. Not the portions he effects. Only the portions he can actually help her with.

By the curve of his lips he does. But he chooses to be arrogant about the knowledge. "Perhaps I just need to hear you speak the words."

She grits her teeth, wondering why he always feels the need to push her buttons. _(She bypasses the fact that she does the same in return.) _Clearly, what he's looking for is a statement starting with 'I need you' and ending with 'Hook', but there's no way in hell she's giving him the satisfaction. Why would she?

Considering the fact that she makes him work for everything else, it would be a consolation for his efforts over the past few weeks in Neverland. But she's unclear on what the words would entail. What they would lead to and what they would ultimately mean to both him and her. The depth of his necessary spot in her life is still uncertain and she's not about to plunge head first into that treacherous sea. Especially when she can't even pinpoint the moment his role in her life became necessary.

"Shut up, Hook," is what finally fires from her mouth along with a swipe of her sword. Because it's the safest choice.

His lips clip upward, as if he can sense the turmoil churning in her mind before he counters with his own sword and typical wit. "Always so formal. At some point you _might_ start referring to me as Killian. It _is_ my first name, after all."

If only he knew that she can't. Thankfully, he's been selective with the instances he's used _her_ first name and every time has felt too personal. She can't begin to make that next step with him. Not yet. Not with Neal's sword fitting so perfectly into the palm of her hand and his memories still death gripping her heart. Not ever.

Hook strikes while her mind is preoccupied with thoughts of her son's father and the man who at one point wanted to step into the role of _his_ father. The thought that she's physically attracted to both men makes her stomach churn. Time sure has a twisted sense of humor.

"You know, you're much more appealing when you don't open your mouth," she spits out, hastily throwing satin strands of hair behind her shoulder and reclaiming her footing. With the words, she simultaneously reclaims her state of mind.

His eyes narrow as he strikes again. This time from the left, which she blocks. "Never let your guard down," he instructs, attacking her from the right. She counters him again, meeting his sword with her own. He steps forward twice and she follows footing. Almost as if they're dancing. "Pan's a nasty bastard who won't think twice before finishing you. You blink and he gets the advantage."

She doesn't blink. Her eyes remain locked on the oceanic hue of his. They're calming really, when he's not firing off sexual innuendos, snide remarks, and invading her personal space. She realizes that when they're connected like this, it's easy to read his next move. Maybe it always has been.

If he notices that her every action is in sync with his, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he directs, "Remember to remain calm, always exude confidence, even when you have none."

She marvels the zone they've found themselves in because she's making progress. That fact is only solidified when she gains the advantage, side stepping slightly to the right, misdirecting his attention, and lifting the tip of her blade into the hollow of his throat.

The victory flows to her face, lifting her lips into a leer, as she goads, "That one's easy for you, I suppose. No need to exude anything when your heads already inflated with it."

She laughs at her own quip, expecting one from him in return. _Secretly she craves it_. But instead his shoulders sag slightly and he lets his sword fall to the side of his knee. His face inches towards hers as he ignores her blade and insists, "Trust me when I say you have no idea what you're speaking of."

For the first time, the look in his eyes startles her. It's because she can't quite place it and she's gotten so accustomed to understanding his words, his actions.

She wants to push him on the topic. Clearly there's something he's not letting her in on. Wouldn't surprise her. It's not like she's been exactly forthcoming with her own enigmas and information. Still, the curiosity is there, gnawing at the back of her throat. Always does when it comes to him.

But before she gets the opportunity, his leg sweeps behind hers, knocking her off-balance and swinging her body backwards. She tumbles, air gushing and pushing her hair against her cheeks when his arm catches her. His hook presses against the base of her throat as her sword clatters to the dirt below. They've switched positioned and she's defenseless.

"You're easier to read than scripture, Swan." There's a mischievous little smirk playing at the corner of his lips, taunting her with his victory. "Never let your guard down. Not even for a minute. Your opponent will take advantage of it; every time."

His face lingers a few inches above hers and his fingers cling to her waist. The tone of his voice is powerful, commanding, and despite herself, her body ignites from within – firing licking every surface of her skin. Although she understands his words and his actions, the effects it has on her are still foreign, unfamiliar, and alarming. Along with frustrating.

_Definitely_ frustrating.

Because it overrides her good senses and she's back to her hands clutching his collar and his lips on hers. When he's so close and his fingers dip into her hip, all she can remember is the taste that his mouth offers and the unquenchable thirst inside of her for more. And the worst part is, it's not the first time she's been transported back to that moment. Not even close.

"Why are you really here? In Neverland. You don't have to be." She breathes the words without really thinking, desperate and terrified to gain his answer. It keeps happening, but instead of fretting over the horrific slip of her tongue, all she can fixate on is the desire within her to brush her mouth against his skin. She wonders if it resembles the taste of his lips – rum, sweat, _desire_.

"I have nowhere else to go," he replies, ignorant to the inner struggles happening mere inches below him. "My revenge is here on this island."

She shakes her head, momentarily clearing the storm of unwanted thoughts making claim inside of it. "You don't want that anymore."

His fingers graze the section of skin above her jeans. Just slightly enough that she can pretend she doesn't notice. But she does. She feels each deliberate pass of his thumb along her hip and the fire within her grows insurmountably.

"What makes you so sure?" he asks, something tempting and wicked flowing into his eyes, shading them into sapphires.

"Maybe you read like a book too." Her words are barely audible. To her own ears they sound weak, like her will.

"Oh, I doubt that," he smirks, lowering his lips to the lobe of her ear. His breath dances along her delicate skin, rising goose bumps the entire way down her arm. "Now. Why do you ask? Are you that eager for my departure?"

"No."

It's the truth, the absolute honest truth. She's unsure if it's his relationship and past stories of Neal, the reassurance of his help in finding Henry or just _him_, but something within has her clinging to his presence with a death grip. Knuckles white and hands aching. She can't let him go. Doesn't want to.

But she _has_ to.

"Now get off of me," she demands and grabbing onto every ounce of her control, she swings her arm back and throws it into the side of his face. Because she can't lose control. Not when Pan's mind-fucking her son, filling him with hatred. Finding Henry needs to be her top priority, not satisfying the desires of her lonely heart. It's still repairing from the last instance and man who fractured it, anyway. She can't fathom the concept of offering it to someone else in the state it's currently in. Especially not _Hook_, who can so easily crush it beneath his leather boot.

He stumbles backwards from the impact, offering the necessary space she requires. The cool air lashes her face, reassembling the disarray that had previously been her thoughts. That rush of relief crashes through her and she sighs. She's free of his charm. She's strong again. For now.

"Bloody hell, love." Hook's good hand covers the raw section of his jaw and he looks… impressed. "From what I remember, your right hook lands quite a bit harder than that. Still, would you care to fill me in on its necessity?"

She almost feels bad and she probably would, if the grin he was sporting didn't cover half of his face. Plus, her action was necessary. Now she just needs to cover it with a plausible lie.

"Never let your guard down, remember?" She winks, leaning down to the ground to pick up her sword. "I'd say that's a win for me." His eyes are intent on her every action, but at least she no longer feels the burn as they scan her waist. Though, if she's honest, the heat still lingers from his contact.

"Sorry about your face," she offers with a shrug.

He scoffs, showing his teeth in a wide smile. "I nearly believe you."

Her throat releases a soft chuckle, but she doesn't correct him.

"Thanks for the lesson."

Then, giving nothing away and plastering a smile on her face, she walks off, pretending she doesn't still feel the precise location of his hand on her waist.

* * *

_**Please Read and Review. :)**_

_Follow me on Twitter and Tumblr: morvamp_


	2. Chapter 2

**Since I started this story immediately after 'Good Form', I am going to stick to canon through that episode. I've had a lot of these chapters mapped out in my head for a few weeks and quite a few confessions and events happened in the last episode that I wasn't ready for. So Hook's confession never happened (though it was flawless in every way), the truth about Neal was never revealed and he hasn't been rescued, and the girls don't know David nearly died. From here on out, we've entered new territory. However; certain moments or phrases from the new episodes may pop up in future chapters.**

**Also, I know I mentioned in the previous chapter that I might head towards adult material, but I've decided against it. Sadly, it just doesn't fit. So the rating for this will change to a strong T. Because I still have a dirty writers (ahem… sailors) mouth and I'm incapable of keeping those nasty curse words bottled up. **

**Huge thank you to my dear friend Kate **_**(This Is My Escape)**_** for proofreading this for me. You're amazing, strumpet.**

* * *

_The second time, he's naked. He's bare-chested, water droplets gliding down the divots and contours of his body, and her mouth is dangling open._

It's another disappointing _(worthless) _day in the mission to save her son. Just another to chalk up to the seemingly endless journey they've set out on. She feels Henry slipping further from her grasp, her hope dwindling along with the familiar sound of his voice in her head. It's terrifying to think that it might vanish forever – that she could very possibly lose _him_ forever by the end of this, that there might never _be_ an end to this.

They're all dangerous thoughts, ones she shakes her head to remove, and instead focuses on lifting the basket she's just filled to the brim with berries. It's not exactly a meal fit for a princess (or her royal parents and an evil queen for that matter), but it's the best option they have. It's keeping them alive from one depressing day to the next. Now, all she needs to do is find the pirate with the knowledge of poisonous versus healthy berries before handing them out to the rest of the group.

The mere thought of him sends a bolt of excitement surging through her nerves. But not because of the moment a few days ago – the one where his fingers dug into her hips and his breath tickled her earlobe, provoking sensations deep within. It doesn't even have anything to do with the taste of his mouth on hers and the delicious memory she has wasted countless hours of sleep over. If anything, those are precisely the reasons she'd be safer testing one of the unknown berries on her own instead of seeking him out, poison be damned.

It's the distraction he offers that has her practically skipping through the 'safer' portions of the dark jungle Hook's restricted them to. In a matter of minutes, she has his banter and verbal sparring to look forward to instead of the doom and gloom lurking around inside of her skull. It's a relief, really, whenever he's around – a breath of fresh air amidst a treacherous sea of choking water.

Ironically, the trickling sound of water is what she hears first in her task to find him. Followed by a splash. Then another, a little softer than the first. She emerges from the web of leaves and into a clearing, one that banks onto a lake. Taking a few steps, she admires the crystal clear water shifting subtly under the force of their dull wind. It's been so long since she's bathed, since she's felt the liberation of dirt from her body and the rush of being submerged in fresh liquid. It doesn't rain much in Neverland. Pan must not be a fan of it.

She notices Hook about the same moment her foot lands on fabric, better known as his clothing. And something metal that glimmers in the rays of sunlight. He peaks from beneath the surface of the lake, not too far into the deep end that she misses the trail centered between the creases his hips make, the one leading slightly beneath visibility. His chest is bare, except for a few strands of hair between his pectorals, making it remarkably easy for her to notice the muscles flexing just under his skin. They ripple and adjust with each movement he makes, especially when his arms lift to leak water over his head, elongating his torso and exposing his abs.

She swallows, hard, attempting to pretend her mouth doesn't suddenly feel as dry as the Sahara freaking desert.

"Instead of gawking, you could always join me."

She blinks. When her eyes reopen, he's staring at her – his hands thankfully back to his sides. There's a smug smirk on his lips and heat surfacing beneath her cheeks. She's been caught and she's mortified.

When it becomes clear she's incapable of forming words, he adds, "It's safe, I assure you."

It's an invitation every figment of her body wants to take. But her mind is much smarter, even with the visual stimulation he's providing. She'd wanted a distraction, but definitely not the kind that starts with her stepping into that lake with him.

So she ignores his offer. "How did you even know this was here?"

His right hand lifts from beneath the water, threading through his onyx hair and dragging liquid down his back. "Like many places in this jungle, I've been here before."

"With a woman, I'm sure." The bitter words fire from her mouth. As soon as they do, she wishes she could grab them all and shove them back in. They sounded almost like jealousy and that's the last thing she wants him to believe she harbors.

His lips twist, exposing his inner delight, before he clarifies, "It was a family member."

She could press him on the information. A few more verbal quips and she'd uncover this one section of his past, but it's dangerous. And she has too much danger in her life already.

Lifting the basket into the air, she gets down to business, "I've got another batch of berries I need you to check out."

He nods and remains in place. "Fearful that their poisonous?"

"Like so many other things tend to be." She shoots him a cheeky grin.

His head cocks to the right, his free hand reaching up to stroke the stubble along his chin. "It may come as a shock, but you've smelled wretched for days. Now take a dip in the water, Swan. The berries will be there once you're finished."

"You're asking me to join you without any clothes on." One of her brows drifts upward, accentuating her incredulous tone. "You _really_ expect me to trust a pirate in that situation?"

"Well," he shrugs innocently, "technically I'm trusting a thief with my attire on the beach. As well as my left hand."

She glances back to the heap of clothing settled at her feet and the slightly exposed hook poking out from under black leather. It would be so easy to run off with everything he needs, everything he finds necessary for survival. The satisfying thought lingers in her head.

"We all have pasts, Emma. Doesn't mean they have to define who we are currently." The sincerity of his statement catches her off guard. And the undercurrent of his truth has her head tilting to the side, her eyes drifting from his clothes and onto the cobalt spheres of his.

The banter in which they always share comes naturally, like breathing. However; these genuine moments are still foreign to her, especially when they so delicately walk the line of his past and hers. He's tried to initiate them before, and she's shot him down every time. Fearful of where emotional understandings lead. But he hasn't tried speaking this openly with her in days and honestly, she's missed it.

The unease in her chest is a result of the difficulty she has navigating through the unchartered territory with him _(with anyone)_, but she chooses to. Because this time, her curiosity is stronger than her fear.

"Okay then; I'll bite. So who are you now, Hook?"

Instead of the easy answer she's expecting, he slashes his head back and forth. "Fairly certain I asked you the same question and my answer was denied."

He lifts his brows, expectantly, but she doesn't accept the bait. When it becomes clear her answer isn't coming, he runs his hand through his hair and releases a sigh. Exhaustion weighs on every surface of his body as he declares, "I'm still trying to figure that one out myself. Every day."

"Why is that?" she asks, stepping forward under the sudden will to know.

His eyebrows then knit on his forehead, indicating he's struggling with something. As to what – she has no idea, but she wishes she did.

When she takes another step towards the edge of the water, his lips twitch and his eyes spark with something devilish. "It's seems a bit unjust having me indulge my inner thoughts with you standing at the edge of the water, completely clothed."

He lifts both his hand and the nub that normally houses his hook into the air. It's the first time she's seen him without the contraption and it feels almost… intimate. Like he's exposing this piece of him along with the portion of his past.

"What am I gaining in all of this?" he asks smugly.

Her arms lift confidently across her chest. "My trust."

It happens so fast she hardly notices, but thankfully she does. It's insecurity, striking his features with the speed of lighting before vanishing right before her very eyes. If she hadn't been transfixed on him in the first place she would have missed it entirely. And what a shame that would have been, considering she thought he was incapable of feeling insecure about anything. Including his stance with her.

"I'd like to think I already have it," he says, much softer than the words he spoke prior.

In that split second, she wants to reassure him. A crack forms in her defensive walls and the words 'you do' load onto her tongue, because it's true. Everyday he's here, fighting alongside of her, for a child he hardly knows, someone he could care less about. His intentions still plague her thoughts, but his loyalty no longer does. Crazy as the notion is, she _trusts_ him.

But in the second it happens, something else does. His standard snark returns. "Regardless, it appears I'm the only one revealing parts of myself. That's not a level playing field." The impish spark returns to his eyes when he instructs, "I think a little honesty deserves more compensation. Perhaps the trousers, love."

_Compensation_. The simple word has heat striking her belly at the reminder of her first form of compensation. But she's wiser now. Knows better than to trust her body against his. All she needs is to place a little distance between them in the water. Plus, she's mustered the strength to finally crack open the doorway to his past. She can't back down now. Not when he's challenging her.

Placing the berries onto the earth below, she twists her index finger in a circle and demands, "Turn around."

He wiggles his eyebrows and pulls a smile over his mouth. He's satisfied and she exhales, praying to whoever will listen that she won't regret the decision she's making afterwards. With the grin still intact, Hook dips into a bow, and mocks, "As you wish."

The moment his back is to her, she rolls her eyes at the second reference to their lip-lock session and begins to peel her skin-tight pants from her legs. After a moment of battling with the fabric both of her feet are free, but she keeps the remainder of her clothes on. Hook only bartered the pants so that was all he was getting.

She glances towards his spot in the water, thankfully finding his back still to her, and takes the steps to the edge of the lake. Once there, she dips her left foot in, relishing the feel of the liquid and the way it dances along her skin, and repeats the action with the right. Then she jumps towards the deep end. The cold water hits her like a trillion little jolts of electricity, jump-starting something inside of her. Awakening what exactly? She doesn't know.

Until she feels it.

The swift pulse of her heart when she resurfaces and catches _him_ staring at _her_. It's the first time she's felt it since the last second she saw Neal. And just like it did then, it terrifies her now.

Their eyes are locked only a second before he breaks the connection, visibly startled. She chooses to ignore it for the sake of sticking to her goal. She's just here to learn a portion of his past. That's it. And that's easier to do when she can pretend her attraction to him is still strictly physical.

"Not too close," she shouts when Hook begins wading his way towards her. After what just happened, she needs all of the space she can get. Plus, they're in crystal clear water, where visibility is close to optimum. The risk of him seeing her barely-there underwear is alarming; nearly as alarming as the risk of her seeing _much more_ of him.

"Okay. I'm here. Elaborate," she spits out, much too quickly. The enticing thought of him – bare - is occupying her mind and it's _frustrating_.

"So eager to figure me out, Swan?" His head tilts to the side, taunting her. He always seems to be taunting her. If only he knew words weren't necessary for that at the moment. His mere presence does the trick.

Floating herself just far enough away from him for safety, she settles her mind. "Perhaps I am." The words mimic those of which he'd originally said to her and she hopes they hit their mark.

They do. A ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his lips. "I'm Killian. At least I'm trying to be."

She rolls her eyes when he once again goes _there_. How many times was he going to try for this? "It's not going to happen. You're Hook to me. Always will be."

Disappointment streaks through his eyes and she's startled again. Each sliver of emotion he reveals has that effect. He just can't stop surprising her.

"Although I'll eventually prove that to be untrue, it's not what I meant." He wades slightly forward, and despite herself, she stays put. "I was different before."

"Before what?"

It happens again. Vulnerability peaks through the façade she's so accustomed to, and he answers honestly, "Before I lost hope, before I knew what it was like to feel alone, before Pan and this island took my brother from me."

She understands all three. It's what connects them. It's why they share an understanding, despite her best attempts at limiting its formation. Sometimes the driving force connecting people is stronger than their efforts of resistance. Occasionally, they don't even stand a chance.

"I'm sorry about your brother," she breathes, throwing as much compassion behind the words as she can. In that instant, she feels shameful of the way she's judged him through a cloud of ignorance. It's almost too easy that way.

He ignores it, though, to say, "You may still see me as a villain, but trust me when I say circumstances mold people. And as for the person I am now, I'm trying to do what's right. However, I don't want to lose everything in the process."

He's speaking a riddle, but somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, she believes him, and she gets it. Her actions so far on the island haven't always been noble. She keeps drifting over the established line she'd previously held separating Good and Evil. But circumstances require actions. And sometimes actions aren't always virtuous when it comes to risking lives and saving them. The warning Mary Margaret said only days prior keeps repeating in her head, the one about losing her family in the process of doing what needs to be done, and she's terrified that she might lose everything, same as him – whatever his everything may be.

She kicks her legs, gliding a few more inches towards him, and tucks a wet strand behind her ear. "You're not alone in that feeling. There's little I wouldn't do to get Henry and through this, I'm still trying to figure out the person I am, too. Maybe there is no easy answer for who we are."

He visibly relaxes, the tension in his torso dissipating when he replies, "You're simple. You're the product of true love. And the savior." He's mocking the terms, same way she does, when he adds, "Your side, your future was declared long before you knew we existed."

She's still trying to remember what that was like, when her world didn't involve magic, when her parents hadn't shoved her into an enchanted stump, when happily-ever-afters weren't handed out, and when the man standing before her didn't constantly shift her views of what she knew and what she knows now. What she remembers from that past life most prominently is loneliness.

She doesn't want that for him. Instead, she wants him to know that someone else besides him gets it. "Our lives aren't fated. I don't believe it and I know you don't either."

They can't. He needs to know there's something more in his future besides the death from his past. And she hopes for it in his life as well. Because although she's locked her heart up tight so it's nearly unapproachable for him romantically, her friendship is up for grabs. And she wishes all of the best for the people who claim those spots in her life.

Even those who have a tendency to be an asshole from time to time.

"You know, I didn't think we'd ever be here again," she admits.

Confusion forms creases in the center of his forehead. "Where?"

"Here. You and me. A civil conversation," she answers, shaking her head at the audacity of it happening when he's sans his leather pants. Her too, for that matter. "A straight-forward one at that."

"Well, considering you shot me down the last time I made an attempt, I figured it best."

He's frowning at her. It's a playful frown, but she still wants nothing more than to rid his face of it. So she reverts to what they do best. She pushes his button. "So you _can_ be trained."

He shoots her a stern expression, feigning offense; the frown is no longer existent. "You're lucky I find your quips humorous."

"Was that a threat?" she questions, laughing at the absurd glare he's giving her.

"Perhaps." His voice is low. It only becomes _dangerously_ low when he swims forward, breaching the safe space surrounding where she's treading water. Instantly she's reminded that he's naked, and her level of ease dissipates, being replaced with pure panic. It doesn't matter that they've breached new territory today. All of that comfort is now gone.

Because it can't happen. He can't drift near her. Not with his clothes lying on the shore and the apex of her thighs covered simply by a thin layer of fabric.

"Stay back!" she warns playfully, faking control over the situation at hand.

"Was that a threat?" he teases, chuckling at her reaction and mimicking her American accent. It sounds hilarious to her ears, but not funny enough to distract her from the frenzied rhythm beating inside of her chest.

"I'm warning you," she shouts, wishing her voice held more power. Perhaps then he'd understand exactly how much she meant it.

"Are you _that_ terrified of your attraction to me, love?" Amusement is dancing across his topaz gems and it's clear to see 'typical' Hook has returned. It's precisely the moment she wishes he didn't. Because he's playing their game. Only difference this time is that what he's saying is actually the truth. And she wants to hide from it, not face it directly.

She has complete control over her mind, but very little over her body. And she can't take that chance of him finding out. She won't.

"I'll hit you," she says, hiding her fear beneath a sense of indifference. She swings her hands through the water, pushing herself back as quickly from him as she can.

But he's too fast. His body glides effortlessly through the water, steadily gaining on her. He's a predator and she's his prey. He just doesn't realize it. "Are you nervous you won't be able to control yourself?"

His voice is smooth, whispering truths that have her heart racing a mile a minute.

"I'm not kidding. You take another step, and I'll swing."

He shakes his head, not backing down. To him, this is simply their game. He pushes, she pushes back. "You wouldn't."

"One last chance," she yells, a sneer plastered to her lips to project a false sense of ease.

Water splashes into her face from the hysterical sweeping of her arms and when she rubs her eyes then reopens them, he's inches away. She's doing her best to keep her focus solely on his face, despite the urge for it to drift south. It's a mere second before his body will make contact with hers and her resolve will disappear along with the space between them. Her heart beats swiftly, it pounds in her ears, and her fingers curl into a fist. And the second she lifts her hand to swing, he stops, eyes wide in astonishment.

"You _are_ attracted to me, aren't you?"

But it's too late to stop the forward progression. Her forearm lands into the side of his head. Definitely not her best attempt at making contact, but she's in the water, and aim isn't exactly easy with that degree of resistance.

They pause for a minute, both gasping for air in an attempt to regulate their breathing. He's searching her expression for something she's not sure he finds. Then his hand reactively goes to the side of his face. It wasn't a powerful punch, not in the least, and by the way his mouth converts to a satisfied smirk, she can tell he's absolutely 100% fine. Probably better than fine, considering the last revelation that flew from his mouth.

But she's _never_ going there. And she's certainly not about to let him repeat it out loud.

So she pretends the truth didn't happen and mutters, "You deserved it."

"Perhaps I did." The words come far too slowly, as if he's considering his next move. He's still only inches away and her body is reacting a trillion different ways. Part of her wants to pull him into her and another portion wishes he'd swim the hell away. On top of that, in the process of their scuffle they've managed to position themselves mere feet from the shoreline. It would be easy for her to make the choice, to walk away, but her legs appear to be immobile. All she can do is freak out and curse whoever she'd prayed to before, the one who sure as hell ignored her pleas of not regretting her decision to step into the water.

Thankfully, Hook makes the decision as to what happens next for her.

"But you really should learn how to handle a joke, love. I wasn't going to touch you. Trust me; when I do, you'll want me to." He winks. She's unsure if it's to enhance the flirt or a sign he has leverage over her dirty little secret. Regardless, her lungs collapse as the air gushes through her teeth, because he's not going to push the matter right now.

He turns, making his way to the edge of the water and steps out. There's a flash of skin before she scoffs and twists her head away from his naked form. She hears the rustle of his clothing, but doesn't dare speak a word. She wouldn't know what to say if she did.

"So you're aware, I was wearing undergarments the entire time." Her cheeks must be three shades darker than before from her ridiculous blushing. Thankfully he's too far away to notice. "The berries are fine to eat."

More scuffling follows and more silence is returned from her. She's still unclear on what's safe to say and she's pretty sure it's the first time that's ever happened with him.

"And just so you know, I peeked." She finally twists her head around, a scowl on her face, and words on her tongue. But he's already gone.

* * *

_**Please read and review! :)**_

_I'm on twitter and tumblr: morvamp_


	3. Chapter 3

**Anyone still here? I know, it's been forever (holy smokes, it's been about a month) and I owe you all a huge apology for my lack of updating. I tried, I really did, but life sort of got in the way and it felt like every time I tried to sit down and write, something came up. Then, I'd finally gotten about 90% of the chapter written when my computer decided it was done. It died, taking with it my chapter and forcing me to rewrite the thing. **

**So yes, I suck, and if y'all are still here interested in this little fic of mine, than I am currently throwing my arms around you in a huge cyber hug. Feel it? You should because I am squeezing the life out of you as you read this.**

**Just a refresher before the chapter… this is continuing off of 'Good Form' and taking things much slower than the show. Important moments will happen, trust me, they'll just take a little bit of time. Hopefully you're buckled and in for the ride.**

* * *

_The third time, she's drunk. The amber liquid blurs her vision, tainting her senses and dulling the rational portion of her brain. _

She's lost count of the number of nights on the island, but she can say for certain that today has been the most difficult. She can still see Henry's crumpled face as Pan's manifestation of her son hovered mere inches before her. A glimpse of him disheartened on a log was all she received before it disappeared at the flick of Pans wrist, vanquishing the warmth in her chest and replacing it with something frigid. Each day that ice inside spreads further, cracking the person and beliefs she carried when they first arrived. And when Pan cackled in her face today, taunting her inferiority, she could have sworn every inch of her body glaciered over.

She's losing herself and incapable of stopping it.

Thankfully, night fell a little over an hour ago after their trek back to camp, sending her optimistic parents into a deep slumber. She can't face their wide, confident eyes anymore tonight. Not with the weight of yet another failure weighing on her chest. And with Regina off on her own somewhere, that leaves Emma with the only person she finds herself comfortable with anymore on this island. Even after the water incident days prior.

It's because Hook understands. In moments like this, he doesn't poke or prod like everyone else; he simply lets her _be_.

When they arrive at the clearing, they face the option of sleep, but she isn't ready. Not after today. The darkness becomes too real when she closes her eyes; the void in her chest over losing Henry never fails to widen and pull her into its endless abyss. At least sitting with Hook helps her feel that presence, offers that mentality that she's not alone. It's a silent presence, of course, but the strength of it feels just the same.

With her knees pressed against her chest, she sits on the ground, peering up at the onyx sky above. For a second she embraces the comforting truth that at least Henry sees the same stars punched throughout the canopy that she does. It's the only connection she feels to him lately and it's nearly soul shattering. But she doesn't cry. She never does. Even in moments like these where she feels the bleakest.

Turning to her right, she catches Hook gazing up at the same canvas. His eyes blaze in the moonlight, separating them from their dark surroundings. Like her, he's deep in thought, buried somewhere in the dark confines of his reflections. She'd recognize that look anywhere because for as long as she can remember, it's been sported on her own face.

It happens then, the same way it continues to happen – the tug in her chest. That familiar coil grips around her heart, begging her to slide closer to feel his embrace. If anything, maybe that would thaw what her thoughts have become today.

Pulling her eyes to the ground, she ignores the sensation because despite what her heart keeps trying to insist, she can't want him that way. Not after the last fracture on her heart from losing Neal.

"Where's your flask?" she asks with her eyes still focused on the individual clumps of dirt between her legs. Normally, she wouldn't have broken their comfortable silence, but with her mood and the direction it continues to head, she's in desperate need of numbing relief. "I haven't seen much of it lately."

His eyes remain transfixed on what's above as he shrugs indifferently. "I haven't had much of a desire for the stuff lately."

"That's odd," she observes, twisting her head in his direction. Considering her desire for it now and the root of its necessity, she questions bitterly, "You're happy being here?" It's a startling thought, but one that seems logical considering his sudden change in healthier drinking habits.

"Not exactly." He chuckles, adjusting his belt to remove the silver flask from his waste, and adds cryptically, "But something like that."

In her current emotional state, she doesn't have the strength to unravel his web of enigmas. "Well, I'm not. I'm not happy about any of it." She reaches over to take the metal from his hand. "Let me have a sip."

Unscrewing the cap, she lifts the flask to her lips. The metal feels cool against her flesh, but the liquid flows freely over her tongue and down the back of her throat. The spice punches her taste buds at first, but by the third gulp, she can already feel its effects. The air becomes less thick, the stiffness in her muscles starts to soften, and her dreadful thoughts drift.

"Take it easy, lass. It can drown you in your own sorrows instead of make you forget them." He reaches over to grab the flask from between her slender fingers. His strong, callused ones wrap around hers, pulling the container onto her lifted knees. As he does, she watches their movement a second, wondering whether her fingertips will eventually bare the same wounds as his over time if she continues down the path she is.

The trance lasts a second before she rolls her eyes. "I know the effects of liquor, Hook. I had a 21st birthday when I was introduced to my dear friend Jack, a 22nd birthday when I met Jose…" Realizing she's offering pieces of her past, her words trail off before she snatches the rum back. "You get my drift."

"The gist of it, at least."

After another pull of the liquid, she swallows. "Don't worry; I won't make a habit of it." Her tone is more condescending than she intends, but she's indignant tonight. He visibly flinches at her verbal slash, and instantly she feels remorse over her statement. It doesn't happen often, but she loads words onto her tongue that she doesn't use often. Especially not when it comes to him.

"I'm sorry," she says genuinely. "I just need a night off."

From worrying, from endless searching, from disappointment, and from trying to make up for the past. The tornado of it all has left her breathless.

He doesn't say anything, simply nods, as he shifts to reclaim his original position on the dirt beside her. His eyes drift back to the dark blanket above as she takes another drink, and within seconds they find themselves back in comfortable silence. It's moments like these which she appreciates most from him – his silent support, the constant understanding of her mental state. He never fails to offer her what she needs when she needs it. Whether that be casual conversation, verbal sparring, or therapeutic silence. On another night, it would have her head spinning and that heart of hers tugging away in confusion between what she's starting to feel and what she still feels for Neal, but not tonight.

Because tonight she has alcohol. And with it comes a sense of freedom, of release – from awkwardly shady pasts, from heavily disturbing emotions, from over-thinking, from labels and explanations and intentions, and from mile high protective walls. Tonight, they're just any other man and woman, free to discuss whatever the hell they feel like.

The alcohol's manufactured warmth swims through her veins when she stares directly ahead and snaps her fingers. Instantly, flames dance from the small pit a few feet away. Heat pours from the fire, offering the same relief on the exterior as the alcohol within.

"Impressive," Hook offers.

"Well, I was angry enough." She leaves off the second half of the sentence about it being her only mastered skill involving magic. Regina's been entertaining the notion that she's capable of more, working with her daily in order to defeat Pan, but nothing's improving and it's only adding to the constant frustrations of this island. Secretly, she's beginning to wonder if she's even capable of anything besides sparking a damn pointless fire. Some savior _she_ is.

Picking up on her tone, Hook offers, "After today, that's understandable."

From the support in that single line, she can tell that the night will be free of sexual innuendos, witty one-liners and shallow surface remarks. _(At this point, she's not certain whether she prefers those interactions or the one they're headed to this evening – one that's speckled with honesty and still hard to navigate.)_

Taking another gulp from the flask, she feels the rush. With it comes another swell of frustration and before she can contain the words, truths trail from her mouth. "I just can't keep doing this. We were so close. Henry was right there. And I couldn't save him. Again."

It's almost startling how acquainted she's become with the concept of failing. Shaking her head dejectedly, she feels Hook's eyes on her left cheek as he clarifies, "Not yet."

The optimism is surprising coming from the source and at another time she'd focus more attention on it, but not when she's having a perfectly healthy meltdown. Glancing in his direction, she latches onto the comforting hue of his eyes and admits something that until now, she's kept buried inside. "I'm not even certain anymore that we will. Every time we get close enough, it just turns out to be another game in Pan's master plan. Maybe I'll never get my kid back."

She's not sure what she's expecting from him in return for her honesty. Comfort? A quip? More silence? All she knows is that it's guaranteed to be what she needs. But instead of the former options, he surprises her with an alternate response.

"Maybe Henry isn't Pan's only goal." His head tilts to the side as revelation paints his features.

Her brows dip critically. "Come again."

"Maybe you are too."

Leaning in closer, she says, "I repeat, come again."

Flames dance through his irises, giving them life and adding to the motion of his thoughts. "There has to be a reason Pan keeps dangling him in front of you, only to rip him away again. Otherwise, why would he do it?"

"For his own twisted satisfaction?" she mutters. It certainly seems logical.

"No," he insists, slashing his head from left to right. "I assure you. Pan's proud, but he does everything with purpose."

Her eyes narrow when his pupils peel from her face. "So what purpose are you getting at?"

With a finger lifted into the air, he keeps his attention focused on the fire directly in from of him. "Patience, lass. Ever heard of a slow burn?" His face creeps slowly towards her, revealing the smug smirk located on his mouth. "Give me a minute. It's all I need to configure my thoughts."

"I'll give you something," she mutters, curling her fingers inward as Regina's lessons regarding anger and containing it for magic come to mind. A simple fireball towards his ass wouldn't be so difficult, would it?

"Easy, love," he coaxes, noticing the rigid set of her jawline and position of her hand. "My face is lacking bruises for the first time in weeks." He chuckles at his own joke and it has the desired effect, resulting in a small smile from her end.

When her fingers relax and her body eases, he stands up and paces around. It lasts only a second before he settles, crouching inches before her. "Maybe it's not solely about finding Henry. Maybe he's breaking you down, forcing you to lose hope so you can't do what needs to be done?"

It's somehow composed as both a statement and a question, but she has a hard time getting on board with that logic.

"That's what you think his plan is? Manipulate _me_. Destroy _my_ hope," she asks, incredulous before defiantly taking another swig of the rum in her hand. "And what would that have to do with Henry?"

He lifts his hook to place the cool curve against the base of her chin. Somehow the direct contact makes the weight of his words that much more effective. "Maybe you're the only one that can save him from whatever plan Pan's devised. You're certainly the angle I'd take, and if you recall, I _was_ a villain once." He briefly pauses to shoot her a wicked grin that makes contact with her middle. "Pan's just swiping a page from my book. Henry's your heart. You take that, you control the person it belongs to."

Connecting the dots, she can see it. The constant manipulating makes sense now. But there's still a very important piece of Hook's logic that still needs to be filled.

She pushes his hook from her face and stands, gaining the space she needs when the liquor in her system keeps tickling her insides, making her light-headed under his intoxicating musk. She'd almost forgotten the way a simple liquid overruled all rational thought processes and replaced them with sexual desires. With him only inches away, it's easy to remember his taste, the contour of his lips as they melded to hers, the cling of his fingers to her waist…

But she grasps onto her control because there are more important issues at hand than her blood flowing south. Then she gets straight to the point. "How can I save him?"

"When you ask so politely, how can I refuse you anything?" He rolls his eyes beneath their lids and takes the moment to wipe the iron contraption with his coat. She watches his every movement, waiting for his answer, and when he finally decides his hook is clean and she's been toyed with enough, he looks up. "I don't have all of the answers, but if I had to take a gander, I'd assume it somehow involves magic."

"If that's the case, why not go after Regina or Rumpelstiltskin? What makes me different?"

"Everything." The single word is spoken so softly, she's certain it's meant solely for Hooks own ears.

With the liquor trickling through her, it's harder to ignore the gentle reverence in his voice. Fighting off physical urges is one thing, but he somehow continues to gain footing in the emotional sense. However, even in her current state, she understands that she can't dwell on what just happened - or its meaning, significance or intention. So she chooses the path they each continue to pick. It's how they've gotten to this point without mentioning a single stolen glance or the realization Hook came to in the water. They simply choose to pretend it never happened. Whether for themselves, each other, or both.

"It probably won't matter what power Pan thinks I have anyway," she declares. "At this rate, I might not ever be strong enough to defeat him."

With a dejected shake of the head, he drags a thumb and two fingers through his goatee. "I'd disagree. I'd bet everything on you, Swan."

He's doing it again, making it harder to pretend his compliments don't affect her. Especially when they're that strong. And since he's not looking at her, never does in these moments, the truth that he's just as uncomfortable as she is crystal. It makes her wonder why he bothers with them at all.

"You're one of the strongest women I've known." His eyes finally dart up to meet hers and the connection makes her feel bare, naked, as though he sees parts of her even she doesn't. "Despite my better judgment, I'm obliged to admit you're one of only two women whom have ever been able to knock me out cold." A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he revisits a memory, then adds, "And I trained the first one myself."

The words and delicate set to his eyes is a dead giveaway of who's on his mind. "I take it that was the woman Rumpelstiltskin…"

"Yes," he answers, his voice almost cracking at the word. "Milah. My first love. When I lost her after my brother, I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my revenge, of finding hope again until I re-stepped foot on this island." He takes a deep breath, raking his fingers through his hair before he tightens his lips into a straight line. Through it all, he maintains eye contact and she realizes he's stronger than she's ever given him credit for. "You asked me before about my rum and its lack of appearances lately. Well, that's why. I no longer need it."

"Is that why you're here, then?" She still finds it odd that the place and mission that's slowly unraveling her piece by piece is somehow having the reverse effect on him. But if it's working, she's glad.

"Aye. I'm here to make up for the past. Let's settle on that as my answer."

She reads him well enough by now to notice he's still not being completely honest with her. Perhaps it's the alcohol or perhaps it's her stubborn nature, but she pushes him. It's becoming a signature move. "I don't think it's the entire truth."

He snickers at her bluntness and brushes it off with a simple, dismissive, "Believe what you choose to believe."

She's not sure what she believes, but she's sure that if she studies him long enough, she could probably figure it out. Each day she cracks him open just a little bit further and it's the second time he's lied to her regarding this single question. Eventually, she's going to pull the truth from him. She's uncovering that more times than not, she likes what she pulls.

"Okay, stop staring," he says, catching her gawking. "I think what you need is to get off of your depressing arse and understand how to properly strike your foe. If Pan fears you, then we need to tap into that strength he sees. And if we're going to make you stronger, we needed to start yesterday."

He's switching topics, and vaguely in the back of her mind, she hears a voice of opposition, but she's hazy and the conversation is making her head spin. A little motion to release her misery sounds enticing and besides, if she plans on defeating Pan any day this century, Hook has a point.

"You're spoiling my night off, but fine. I'm game."

They maneuver away from the fire, just far enough for safety but close enough to benefit from the light it provides. When he takes the rum from her right hand, she glares at him.

"Remember your training," he instructs, ignoring her childish annoyance. "Feet apart, eye contact, and the illusion of confidence."

She scoffs, slapping his hook away as it separates her legs. "I already know all of this."

"But you don't know the final step. With any foe, aim for the heart. Its impact is the greatest."

Her eyebrows drop as she bites the inside of her cheek. "It's not easy getting to someone's heart," she objects. "It's what they protect the most."

"Let me assure you, you're capable." When he looks at her the way he is, she feels stronger, as though all of the cracked, broken fragments she's consisted of somehow suddenly form someone whole.

"Now try to strike me with your fist." He taps his right palm twice over his heart. "Right here in the chest."

She shakes her hands at her sides, making sure her body is actually as limber as the rum is making her feel, then she lifts them in front of her chest. Embracing the anger Regina has instructed her to use, she visualizes Pan before her.

"But no magic," he intervenes. "We're not actually trying to kill me."

"Who says?" she taunts, swaying from side to side with amusement painted over her features. He's done it again. The despair she felt prior is gone and despite herself, she smiles. It something she's discovering he's proficient at luring from her.

The alcohol has her slightly off balance, her actions a few beats behind her decision to make them, and her feet immensely heavier than she remembers. But his eyes are honed in on hers, that mesmerizing blue whispering encouragements and constructing faith she's currently lacking.

Balling her fingers into a fist, she swings, throwing all of her weight into the punch. In reality, it takes a mere second for her trajectory to slip slightly higher than expected, but she sees it happen in slow motion. Hook's eyes bulge as her knuckles close in on his face, her ankle twists under the shift of her weight, and her hand lands right in the column of his throat.

He makes a strange noise that resembles a grunt, or maybe a strain; she's not quite sure. Then his good hand latches around his neck and he drops to the dirt below. Her limbs tangle with his and she follows him down, landing a second strike with her elbow into his gut when they collide.

He grunts again and this time she can't help herself as he struggles for air. She laughs into his chest. Hard. It's abrupt, effective, and revitalizing as the chuckles leave her lips, taking with them the endless tension that's been plaguing her. Through crimped eyes, she notices Hook's face shift from discomfort to awe at the sight of her laughter and she stores the image in her personal arsenal. It really is something wonderful.

She's still on top of him, the weight of her body convulsing with each giggle she pushes through her teeth, when he joins her. Their tones mesh together in a symphony that stretches through the otherwise dark and silent forest. And for a moment, they just enjoy the sound of bliss. For so many nights they've been denied it, after all. So the instance stretches, where two unlikely characters relinquish control of their composed exteriors and relish in what that feels like.

"I'm… sorry," she forces through the laughter. "I am."

"Maybe tomorrow is the better option for continuing your training," he offers as the last surge of his chuckles subsides.

She nods in agreement, dropping her head and in doing so, she gets closer. So close in fact that she can actually see the moon reflected in his eyes.

"Can I ask you something?" Her voice is soft, mimicking the effect he has on her middle.

"Aye."

What she wants more than anything at the moment is to ask him why he hasn't brought up his revelation in the water. With the way he'd handled the aftermath of their kiss, she'd initially assumed he'd dangle it over her head any opportunity he had. But he's refrained and that baffles her. _Secretly also disappoints her._

But even in her haze, she's smart enough to know which questions are better left unanswered – which ones lead to places neither may be ready for and ones that adjust the future. So she settles for the second one that comes to mind.

"What is it about this island that gives you hope? Because I'm in desperate need of it lately." Her eyes don't shy from his at the admittance of her weakness. He's seeing it as each day progresses, so there's no point in pretending it doesn't exist anymore. Not around him, at least.

He sighs at her question. "Visualize the one thing you want and cling to it." She's acutely aware that they're still currently, literally clinging to each other on the ground. "Neverland is an easy place to lose your way. So let it be your guide through the darkness here."

Disappointment creeps over her demeanor. "That's it? Pretty sure that's not helping." She's been clinging to Henry since the moment she stepped foot onto the Jolly Roger and it has done very little to demolish the helplessness storming her condition.

He shrugs, their bodies both shifting at the movement. "It does for me." In this position, she can feel the steady thud of his heart beneath her, punctuating the sentence.

"Well, what do you cling to then?" Her eyes widen as she waits for his answer.

He breaks the contact, dropping his eyes to her lips briefly. They suddenly feel dry and her tongue snakes out to dampen them. It's a gut reaction that results in him shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."

Her brows lift expectantly, urging him further. How far? She's still not sure.

His struggle is present, construing every line of his face. His eyes linger on her lips, his heart pounds against her chest, and the craving within her becomes insurmountable. She tells herself it's the alcohol. Of course it is. She has more control than this. But she's hugging his body like wrapping paper, her legs adhering to each side of his waist, and the arch of his neck is begging for her tongue. It's almost too easy, the moment too tempting to resist.

But he props a sad smile onto his lips before her instincts have her acting out the desires. "Sleep," is what he finally tells her, wrapping his fingers around her arm and using his chest to lift her off of his.

"I cling to sleep, Swan," he repeats, lifting onto his feet to tower over her. "And you should to." Then he walks off.

It's the first time the ache in her chest has nothing to do with Henry.

* * *

_**Please read and review! :)**_

_I'm on twitter and tumblr: morvamp_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Well lookie there, I managed to update twice in one month. I know it's not ideal, but life is crazy and I'm hoping y'all understand. I can't believe I haven't said this in an author's note yet, but I just wanted to give a huge thank you to those of you reading, favoriting, alerting, and reviewing this little fic of mine. It really does mean so much.**_

_**Another huge thank you to my friend Amy (jazzywriter22) for looking over this chapter for me. You rock, babe.**_

_**And in case I don't get another chapter posted in time, I hope you all have a Wonderful Holiday and Happy New Year!**_

* * *

T_he fourth time she's broken. A result of yet another severed piece of her heart taken by circumstances beyond her control._

The group is dispensed throughout their campsite. David and Hook are catching fish to heat for dinner, Regina is shooting tiny purple balls of light through the trees to knock down mangos, and Emma is assisting Mary Margaret in repairing knots on her traps.

They're all doing their part to survive. It's harder said than done.

Considering no new improvements have been made in the task to save her son, Emma is handling things relatively well, remaining positive. It helps to stay busy. So she spends her days immersed in building her skill in magic. Regina's helping in that department; though Emma's sure her continued incapability is beginning to wear thin on the queen.

She and Hook have fallen back into their routine, which means lessons on speed, agility, and proper aim when it comes to defeating a foe. She absorbs everything he tells her, mastering it bit by bit, and unlike magic, physical sparring is an area she's beginning to excel in. Especially when it comes to his latest challenge of striking someones heart. He refers to it as the 'death shot', but despite what she teases relentlessly, she doesn't actually want to hit him hard enough to kill him or cause damage. Quite the contrary, she's discovering more each day that he's the life she craves most on this island. This is making it decidedly more difficult to ignore the moments that continue to transpire between them or to pretend that the feelings she shares for him don't exist.

That difficulty rears its ugly head when he and David emerge from the waving sea of foliage, carrying the evening's dinner.

The damn pirate is bare-chested, offering up quite the appealing image. Her eyes are incapable of drifting from his form. They magnify on the expanse of skin covering his shoulders, the skin pulled taught over the muscles like the top of a drum. There are beads of sweat settled in crevices her tongue itches to reach and soft lips that call to her.

She busies her hands, fiddling with the net she's trying to knot together, when all they really desire is to trail over every inch of him. Especially that portion her eyes are currently trained on.

This keeps happening and no matter what she does, she can't stop it. She knows why too. Can pinpoint the exact reason why she can't keep Hook from her mind or her line of vision. It's because he's no longer just any other person. Not now since she couldn't resist learning those few nuggets of his past, shifting him into someone relatable, someone appealing. She knew it was idiotic at the time, and yet she pushed anyway. Repeatedly. At the river and by the fire. Stupid alcohol.

Now she knows about Milah, his brother, the workings of his heart, his surprisingly decent intentions, and the fact that his mind is a wondrous place with answers to Pans riddles. In fact, the only things she doesn't seem to know are why they're still pretending their situation isn't changing and why he's here on this island. And the fact that both questions mean so much to her is infuriating. Because it shouldn't matter. But it does.

_Everything _about him matters.

So scratch what she thought before. Emma is okay, doing her best to stay positive regarding Henry, but this confusing predicament with Hook is driving her crazy.

"It's about time. Did you two hike to the other side of the island?" Regina's words infiltrate the mess inside of her head.

"Just hold off, Regina." David takes a few steps back, swinging the fish behind him as she approaches. "They need to be cleaned and gutted first."

Regina fires back words about starvation, resulting in more bickering from her father, but honestly, she doesn't hear it. Instead, she's focused on the pair of artic eyes locked with hers, mentally teasing the pair bickering to his right. They no longer need words to understand one another, gestures and actions speak loud enough. A smile pulls on her mouth when he rolls his eyes and it's that moment that she catches what she's doing.

_That's_ the worst of it all. After their last moment alone by the fire, it's no longer just a physical reaction, their connection is reaching deeper, clawing at places she's built trenches around and sealed up tight. It's not still a feeling settled low in the base of her belly, constantly clenching and tightening in his presence. It's the pressure on her heart now, the warmth his eyes, lips, smirk, laugh, demeanor creates, that she continues to ignore. Because acknowledging it is not an option. Feeling _anything_ is not an option. Her attention should be on Henry, and Henry alone.

She pulls her eyes from his and diverts her attention back to the task at hand, ignoring the growls of her stomach and yearns of her heart.

"It's okay, you know?" Mary Margaret's voice is gentle next to hers.

Emma furrows her brows and raises her eyes in response. "What's okay?" She vaguely notices Hook (now sporting his leather coat) and David trek back into the jungle and Regina to the opposite side of the campsite.

Her mother smiles, innocent and pure. "What's happening between the two of you."

The delivery is matter-of-fact, but the observation hits Emma like a freight train and instead of facing her mother's unwavering eyes a second longer, she drops them back down to the rope in hand. She can't face the truth, even when it comes from such a tender soul.

"No. It's not." Her voice is stern, insisting the conversation is over. It's a conversation she wishes had never started. At least she and Hook have mastered their delicate dance of denial, but Mary Margaret has never been one for subtlety.

Proving that fact, her mother insists, "It is."

"No." Thankfully, Regina is a decent distance away because Emma throws conviction behind her voice, making herself a little louder. "It's too soon. I _just_ lost Neal."

Honestly, she's not even sure time is enough to heal the hole in her heart that Neal and the guilt she feels regarding his death has left behind. That guilt over losing him in that portal has been eating her from the inside out since the moment she desperately told him she loved him. Actually allowing herself to feel for Hook would only make the reality of that guilt ten times heavier to bear.

"It's been months, Emma. It's okay to let go." Mary Margaret's words are like satin ribbons, smooth and enticing as they wrap her in temptations. "Yes, you lost someone, but just because he was your first love doesn't mean he was your true love. Don't cut yourself off from a chance of finding that."

_But he's Henry's father_ sounds in her mind. He was the logical choice. The one who completed the happy ending she once thought was possible. Now, she's not so sure it even exists.

Her mother's hand stretches over to replace the rope between her fingers and gives them a reassuring grip. "It's natural to be scared."

At the mention of weakness, Emma finally has the urge to raise her eyes. She's not weak and she sure as hell isn't afraid of love. Continuously assuring herself that the emotion only leads to regret, to disappointment, and to severed pieces of herself, is what keeps her strong. It doesn't mean she doesn't want love. Simply means, she'll do anything possible to protect herself from Neal happening again. And in doing so, protecting his memories.

"Please don't try to pretend like you know me," her words are cruel, but she's tired of her love life consistently being scrutinized _(mostly by herself, but that's beside the poin_t). She's wished for her mother her entire life, and moments like these only amplify the truth that she was never there. "We just found each other."

Mary Margaret's hand retracts as though it's been burned. The regret in her mother's eyes is unnerving as she assures, "All I want is to see you happy."

"And all I want is to find Henry. That's what will make me happy." It's the only sure answer anymore, the only one she feels confident in. And before more guilt can creep its way inside due to the way she's just handled the situation, Emma stands and stomps into the forest.

Leaves and branches slash at her face with each step she takes. She's not sure where she's going, but Neal occupies the forefront of her thoughts. She'd done well thus far keeping him from her mind. However, it's easy to lose herself in the memories and for a moment, that's what she does. She sinks in the despair she experienced when he left her the first time. She suffocates in the pain of losing him the second time. And she chokes on the possibility of everything happening again if she let someone else in.

But most of all, she gags on the guilt she continuously embraces, carrying on her shoulders like Atlas does the world, because he died saving her and all she remembers about her love for him was that it came with this price. That it _hurt_.

"You're mauling the fish, be delicate." Her father's voice cuts through the silence, breaking her train of thought.

"Pardon? Need I remind you who the pirate is here?"

"Point received."

Silence stretches on then, but from Hook and David's previous sounds, she can sense they're relatively close, just hidden behind bushes. She follows the direction the sound came from, craving a distraction from her stormy thoughts of Neal.

"Despite my devastatingly good looks and previous roguish tendencies, I'm not certain I can contain your secret much longer, mate," Hook says. "It's going against my moral judgment."

"What moral judgment?" Emma nearly chuckles aloud, narrowly covering her mouth in time to catch herself at her father's witty reply. It so rarely happens that it takes precedence over the spoken word of 'secret'.

"You're deflecting my point."

"Just keep quiet until I'm ready."

"I'm not one for taking orders, even from comrades," Hook retorts, exhaling a sigh. A few more steps and their faces will come into view. "So when will that time present itself?"

"Soon."

"You were bloody dying, and I saved your arse. Now you're stuck on this island. Forever." Hook's words and the strict tone in which they are delivered has Emma sprinting to the clearing where the men are located. "That truth will surface when your family intends to leave. It's only a matter of time now."

"What are you talking about?" She breaches the edge of the bushes, darting out in time to level her father with a questioning gaze. Rapid breaths shoot through her windpipe and her heart jackhammers in her chest. Hooks words can't be the truth; her father wouldn't keep a secret of that degree from her.

David's eyes widen and his expression falls, guilt splashing over his features, when he starts, "Emma, sweetie…"

"What is he talking about?" She demands, urging an explanation from her father when the panic within her surges to the surface. Hook's eyes are glued to her cheek, but for the first time since she can remember she hardly notices his presence.

"Dreamshade."

"Is it true?" she questions, taking a step forward. Her eyes plead with his, searching for the truth that he's not actually trapped here. He _can't_ be. "Are you stuck here?"

His silence speaks a trillion words she doesn't want to comprehend. They're much too painful.

As though he senses the need for an actual verbal response, Hook mutters, "Aye," but she ignores him.

Her dad's eyes mimic her own, begging to cradle her from the truth, to pull her in and shelter her. But she's not a little girl anymore, hasn't been for a long time. She takes care of herself, has her entire life. Doesn't mean the thought of losing him is any easier to confront, but when her insides are collapsing along with her world, she needs to appear strong on the outside. So that's what she does.

Tears threaten to breach the rims of her eyes when she whispers, "Does she know?"

"Who? Your mother?" he deduces. She flinches at the word, at the harsh reality of the way she just treated the woman she suddenly needs to protect. The most she can bring herself to do is nod.

"No." More guilt slips down her dads face and for the first time the glimmer in his eyes has disappeared. It's unsettling to see Prince Charming as anything other than lustrous.

"You need to tell her," she instructs. "Now."

"Emma. I was trying to protect you both." He takes a step forward, reaching for her, but she retracts her shoulder before contact is made. She will not cry in front of him. She won't.

"Please," she pleads. "I won't talk to you until you do. Just go."

She's been left too many times without warning and the last thing she wants is the same for her mother. Even if she's one of those who did it to her.

With one last nod, he steps into the leaves and disappears. Anger swells inside of her, like a volcanic wave. Abandonment is in her future, again, and she's powerless to stop it. No matter what she does, yet another person will be ripped from her life. Another chunk of her heart will be chipped away and left behind.

"This island stole someone from me as well, if you remember." Hook's voice is soft, smooth, like a gentle caress amidst endless lashes as he cleans the fish pieces from his hand and hook. "I understand what you're experiencing."

Somewhere deep inside, she knows he understands. But at the moment she's just too hurt to see it. She's not sure who she's angrier with – Pan, her parents, or fate – but Hook's there and she's been bracing the impact of so much disappointment on her own. She needs to direct the whirlpool of emotions onto someone before it sucks her under.

"No," she declares, glaring at him. "We're not going to have one of those moments." He could have chosen an array of instances they'd been together to get closer to her, to burrow just a little further into her chest, but right now it's the last thing she wants. Neal is still fresh on her mind, the pain he brought her tensing her muscles, her father is being stolen from her life again, so shortly after he was returned to her, and Henry is still lost somewhere on this island.

"Forgive me, but what moment?" he asks, knitting his brows.

He knows exactly the type of moment she's referring; they've only been tip-toeing around them for weeks. But she won't dare elaborate further. Damn his fabricated ignorance.

"How could you?" she questions and her voice cracks under the emotion rippling through her. It's crashing against her interior walls, threatening to spill from every crevice of her body. She feels it first in her tear ducts. "You should have told me."

In this world where nothing, even after all of this time, feels real, he was starting to. There was something absolute in his unwavering stance behind her cause, behind her. Even if she didn't necessarily appreciate it until this moment.

Now, for the first time, she feels utterly alone on this island.

"It wasn't my secret to tell," he responds.

She can vaguely understand the reasoning behind his words, but her emotions are spinning too wildly. They're out of control and before she can stop the surge of tears, they cloud her eyes. Warm liquid trickles down her face and she hates him for making her this emotional. For breaking her trust.

"You still should have told me," she pushes through a sob.

"Emma," he pleads, reaching out his hand.

"Don't." With his eyes blazing that particular hue, and the liquid pooling around the edges, she can't handle the intimacy of him speaking her first name. Not when she's wide open like this. "I trusted you. Against my better judgment, I trusted you. I thought we understood each other."

"We still do and you still can, love," There's vulnerability in his words, in the tone in which he speaks them, and it only makes the tears fall faster down her cheeks. Like an avalanche of weakness. It only makes her angrier because love, the very thing that makes others stronger, somehow has the reverse effect on her.

He reaches for her, pulling her against his chest, but she doesn't want any part of it. Not when his betrayal feels like black tar at the base of her stomach. She trusted him. More than anyone else on this island. And it's only come back to kick her in the teeth.

"Don't call me love," she shouts against his leather coat. Balling her hands into tiny fists, she throws them against his chest and occasionally his heart, releasing her energy into him and doing her best to keep him at a distance. She doesn't want his comfort.

"You don't get to call me that." Her fists continue to pound out a relentless rhythm, but he stands strong, taking every blow. All the while, she does her best to resist collapsing into him. She's a bloody mess. There's no denying that. The word echoes in her head, just another piece of him that's infiltrated her barriers and won't let go. It reminds her of the impact he's had on her, despite all of her best efforts and justifications against it happening. It only fuels more anger.

"I know. I'm sorry," he insists, his arm never leaving her shoulder, steadying her as she releases her emotions onto him. He doesn't falter, remaining strong for her. "Swan, you must forgive me. My very last intentions are ever to hurt you."

This time, his will is stronger than hers; she can recognize his honesty. With one last blow, she crumples into his chest, the anger within deflating instantly as the air gushes from her lungs. All of her strength escapes with her tears, and sobs rip from her center, leaving only the injuries that have finally become too prominent to endure.

His arms wrap tightly around her back, keeping her together as she falls apart. And she's glad that out of all the people in her life right now, he's the person who witnesses her breakdown, shocking as that notion may seem.

"I'm going to lose him forever." She could be speaking of any of the men in her life at the moment, but she doesn't elaborate further.

It's the moment she needs Hooks silent strength the most, and as always, he offers it up. No questions asked. Even after she just misdirected her anger onto him. Maybe it has something to do with the similar state of his heart, the familiarity he has with moments like these. It pains her more to dwell on that likely possibility, so she doesn't.

Each time someone new is ripped from her life, she tries to build up the walls higher. Others have managed to chip away at her defenses over time, but as she releases an onslaught of tears into Hooks leather jacket, it's evident they've crumbled around him. She wouldn't expose herself to just anyone. Not like this.

And she does. Seconds, minutes, hours – she's really not sure, just hopes it's not the latter. It's one thing to break apart, but another to lose yourself completely. She fights the tears every step of the way, willing them to stop so she can recompose herself. All the while, he doesn't speak a word. Just listens to her muffled cries, absorbing everything she releases into him until her eyes burn and she's dried out, exhausted.

When she finally stills, he proclaims, "I'll invest every waking minute towards finding an alternate cure to get him off of this island."

She lifts her head from his chest. Her fingers are fisted into the back of his jacket, holding him against her. She's not ready to lose his strength. Not just yet. Oddly enough, he's looking at her like she's still the strongest woman he knows.

His eyes bore into hers, willing her to understand. "Do you hear me? We _will_ uncover a solution."

His devotion and endless faith in her success almost sends her to her knees again. Sadly, she's too raw to pretend with him.

Positioning her lips into a sad smile, she replies, "No we won't." Because the truth of the matter is that loving certain people is a tragedy. And she's one of them. Why else would every person that loves her get seized from her grip? Maybe its fates way of keeping things balanced. She's the savior; she saves people, brings them their happy endings, but loses them from her life in return.

"Everyone I care for gets ripped away." Admitting it out loud doesn't make her feel weaker. In fact, it's a relief to acknowledge it. She _is_ afraid of love because her past has insisted she do so. It's just the truth. She lost her parents. She lost Neal, twice. She lost Henry. And now she's about to lose her father again.

Lowering her head, she positions it back against his chest. The steady pulse of his heart pounds in her ears and synchronizes with her own.

"I have to tell you something." Hook sounds pained, and she doesn't want that for him. Not after he's taken so much of hers already.

So she shakes her head. "Please, not now. You can tell me some other time."

He sighs into her hair and for a moment, they each just breathe. She follows the steady succession of his lungs expanding and retracting. The motion slows everything down a bit, halts it from spinning.

"If it's any consolation," he offers, "I'm not going anywhere." Honestly, she didn't need to hear the words to believe them. Despite her breakdown and the nasty words spewed and thoughts manifested, she trusts him to remain by her side.

She inhales, breathing him in, letting his scent infiltrate every inch of her. In doing so, she regains a bit of what she just lost. "I'm not mad at you," she whispers. "Never really was."

"I know." It's soft, mimicked by the dusting of his lips against the crown of her hair. At least she's almost certain that's what she felt. He'll never admit it if she asks, but the gesture alone warms her bones.

"Thank you." It's genuine and pertains to so much she doesn't have the vigor to elaborate on right now, but she doesn't need to. He understands her, after all.

"You're welcome."

"We don't ever bring this up again."

His chest vibrates in what she assumes is a throaty laugh, but he masks the sound well.

More seconds, or minutes pass. Her forehead remains pressed into the divot of his chest, accepting the heat of his arms wrapped around her like a cocoon. There's something oddly comforting in the embrace, which makes her wary. It's not something she wants to depend on in the future.

Every logical figment within her insists she stand up, but she doesn't let herself experience these moments and she was denied so many as a child, re-building herself on her own for years. Internally, it's happening again with each solid breath, but she can't deny the relief that comes with his moral support, his understanding in her process.

So she milks the moment a few seconds longer, lingering in the solace of someone whose heart sustains the same dark craters as hers, before they go back to pretending it never happened.

When she feels her time is spent, she opens and closes her eyes numerous times, repeats the motions with her mouth as she battles with the question that still won't leave her mind. This time, she's sure she'll get an honest answer. It's just a matter of whether it's fair she ask him after all he's just offered.

Honestly, after what she's learned about love, she's terrified of the reply, but something wills her to ask the question anyway. Before the opportunity of this moment runs out.

Neither has moved. They're still entwined, still bound together when she asks, "Why are you on this island, Hook?"

She assures herself it's only to make sure she protects him from the future, but in reality, she needs a truth – something real and solid to hold on to while everything else falls apart. Even if she has no idea what to do with his answer.

The stretch of silence that follows is unbearable.

"For you," he finally admits. "I'm here because of you."

She discovers it's something she's known all along.

* * *

_**Please read and review! :)**_

_I'm on twitter and tumblr: morvamp_


End file.
